What's left in our Hearts
by XoxStrifexoX
Summary: * Eren is held captive - sold to a rebel group where he is subjected to becoming "comfort" for the men - In time a man named Levi becoming second in command he learns of Eren's existence Will he be the final hope Eren has left or will he set him into the final stages of ruin? WARNINGS: RAPE VIOLENCE ABUSE possibly YAOI - TWO SHOT
1. Chapter 1

What's left in our Hearts XoxStrifexoX Summary: Growing up he always sought out to identify the best in others; whether it was to draw it out naturally or raise hell to get them in line. Every person deserved a chance. Every person, no matter how rough around the edges, contained a conscious of good and bad and right and wrong. Very few, he believed, were exceptions to this. He truly believed that. He had truly believed... * Eren is held captive - sold to a rebel group where he is subjected to becoming "comfort" for the men - In time a man named Levi becoming second in command he learns of Eren's existence ~ Will he be the final hope Eren has left or will he set him into the final stages of ruin? Notes: I'm like - really suffering from a writing block here - I got all this stuff started for ' MINE ' ' To Exist' 'Band Prompt and the War Au and then this nonsense - well...  
this was supposed to be a one shot - a one shot - but now it's two and definitely only two - I kinda promised a post and the chapter wrapped up pretty nicely where I left it so... yeah.. Sorry!~  
I hope you guys ?enjoy? this one in the meantime

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Growing up he always sought out to identify the best in others; whether it was to draw it out naturally or raise hell to get them in line. Every person deserved a chance. Every person, no matter how rough around the edges, contained a conscious of good and bad and right and wrong. Very few, he believed, were exceptions to this. He truly believed that.

He had truly believed...

His head was swimming. A murmur of voices string alongside the low pitched ringing in his ears. His muddled mind couldn't make out the sounds. They were all pinched together in a strange symphony, unharmonious as it were.  
His eyes tried their damnedest to peek open, but the piercing pain held behind them only allowed him a narrow glimpse.  
Darkness. Complete and empty darkness.  
Beyond that, it was hot; sticky. He noticed the heat long before the numb eased out of his limps. He felt like he had just awoken for the first time. His body adjusting to the world around him, slowly; achingly.

With a deep gasp of air to fill his lungs his eyes went wide before immediately shutting tight. With the air came a swirl of dust that filled his lungs and forced him to wheeze himself into a coughing fit. The feeling of burning in his chest far more prominent than the ground beneath him or the tenderness in his bones.

He found himself helpless to move properly. It was as if none of his muscles would respond to the desperate pleas to move or roll over; to reach up and shield his mouth from inhaling any more of the earth sanding away at the flesh of his lungs.

With a heave, following failed attempts at spitting out the, now clumps of dirt soaking the saliva from his mouth, his body lurched forward, curling in on itself as he emptied the contents of his stomach on the floor which he lay.

His heart hammered as the drool and bile, strung from his lips, pooled to the floor. The harsh scent forcing his nose, involuntarily, to scrunch at the stench. The nausea that followed was overwhelming. The warmth of the pungent content churning what little was left in his stomach.

Where was he?

How did he get here?

Why is it dark?

Why can't he move?

Where? Where, and why?

The throbbing in his chest quickened as he slowly came out of the haze shrouding his mind.

As if his prayer had been answered a rusty door creaked on its hinges and bore the gift of light to cut through the black surroundings that imprisoned him. With it would come answers, it had to. Someone found him. They found him and they would get him out of whatever situation he was in.  
With a groan; his own pitiful attempt at speech, he strained his eyes to look onto the newcomer.

The brightness hurt, like a pointed dagger plucking his eyes from their sockets. The blur, evidently tears he had yet to notice, making it that much more painstaking not to blink; not to shut them against the searing sensation.

But he couldn't look away. Whoever this person was, they'd help him; tell him what happened. The sorrowful sight before them would quell worry, pity or sympathy.

Help, he wanted to cry, through his raw throat, and he almost squeezed out the first syllable; almost.

A stick like figure approached and as the backlit male was compromised, the stick seemed to grow rapidly in mass and size.

Help was coming. This man would help him. He would know; he would help.

A hand on his shoulder, the touch was barely felt. It tingled under the pressure but nothing more. It tingled, yet his ears could pick up the groan of his joint under the hand.

How long had he remained here, comatose on the floor, for his bones to creak so loudly from such a light grip?

Suddenly, he felt his balance shift and waver; similar to floating on the surface of the ocean and being pulled with the tide, his stomach and equilibrium shifted and wavered.

It took him far longer than it should have that the man gripping his shoulder was squeezing harder than he previously thought. Without warning he felt himself being ripped up from the floor. The force rolling his head back against the motion. It rolled to the back and side, flopping, before it fell to rest his chin flat against his collarbone.

He couldn't even raise his head. The alarm sounded through his body all at once; realization tearing his heart into fragments of panic. This man wasn't going to help him. He wasn't going to save him. Whoever he was he wasn't concerned about him at all. No, rather, he may even be responsible.

His nostrils flared as he gasped for air, his throat closing up from the rising anxiety and the position of his head; making it difficult to pass the oxygen through his squished windpipe.

A hiss left his lips, bubbling against the contents still partly filling his mouth that continued to seep forward.

His head was jerked back up by his hair, making the skin of his throat pull tight. The lingering drool crept to the back of his throat, but he found it near impossible to swallow it down. Instead, choked and sputtered. The tears ran freely down his cheeks as he felt his skin prickling with sweat.

For whatever reason, the roots in his scalp ached more than the hand whose fingers began to bruise and bite into the flesh of his shoulder.

His brow folded as he tried to cry out; to say something, anything. But nothing came out. Nothing but a murmur of disgust from the man holding him up and a strong smelling cloth over his parted lips.

Once again, his heart clenched, as his vision fell to black.

When his father told him tales of his travels; of how the world was a beautiful place, from the lands to the people who inhabited them, he would glow in awe at every story.

He, like his father, found solace in healing others. Which is why he turned to medicine. Which is why he volunteered to roam far from the safety of home and the city of Rose which he loved and grew, to practice medicine for the less fortunate.

To save the people outside the walls of middle and upper class. To offer his services as a doctor for those who truly needed his help. To the people who struggled day to day for meals. Who lived in poverty the likes of people who lived in the lush and bountiful country of Sina could never imagine existing still today.

He did what any humane person would do; what anyone would do. The lands, though tarnished could still be beautiful. The people who were down trotted could still hope, strive and build for the future; and he would help nurture them as much as he could within his power.

The world was a wondrous and awe inspiring, just as the people who lived off that very land.

Beautiful. They are beautiful. People are beautiful.

He truly believed that once.

Were people truly this ugly all along?

"Get up."

He was used to the gruff tone by now. He was also used to the rough voice demanding the impossible.

"I.. ca-n't.."

The effort to call forth his own voice was laboring. Each breath shallow and rasped as he mustered the best glare possible to set onto the looming figure above him.

When he had woken the second time around he was moved to a different room. The light and blankets were deceptive.

He remembered waking to a false sense of security. It fooled him into believing it was all some fucked up dream. Some strange passing nightmare with an abstract meaning attached to it that he'd never care to grasp or recall.

As his body adjusted to reality, far quicker than it had before, the gravity of his situation and environment fell upon him.

As the static cleared the pain settled in. Upon closer inspection, his shoulder and rubs were bruised and his scalp tender. The feeling of being light headed lingering as his gaze fell to the wide spread room around him; any chance of breath seized.

Tears peaked at the corner of his eyes as his mouth hung in a silent cry at horror at the scene around him. The only sound leaving his throat was a weak indignant whine as he reached to cover his mouth.

Men and women scattered the floor of the room. Thin moth eaten blankets only helping to warm a select few individuals, including himself.  
The others lie or sat huddled together against the walls and each other. Some wailing in agony as others remained suspiciously still and silent. The only indication that they were amongst the living was the subtle rise and fall of their chests.

From the limited light, provided by the small windows, he could identify some of the twisted limbs and open wounds as broken or infected. He could see the unmistakable red stains soaked in the fabric of their clothing and the tracks of tears on dirt ridden faces.

He wanted to help them; tend to the wounded and wipe clean whatever hardships they faced. But more paralyzing than the drug still in his system was the fear that began to instill itself in his heart. It left his fingers twitching against his lips, his free hand digging its fingers into his thigh as he tried to calm himself to no avail.

He remembered thinking...

What were they doing with these people and why?

What would they do with him?

"I don't have time for this," the man spat at him as he pulled his foot back to deliver a harsh kick to his shin.

With a groan, he grabbed his shin on reflex; crying out as it earned him another to the small of his back. And as he curled he felt the hands at his neck choking him as he was forced back into a sitting position against the wall.

Weak fingers clawed at the strong grip taunt around his neck. The meaty hands not budging so much as a hair's width.

He thought then, this man, he really might die. This man might kill him. He could die. He was going to die in this god forsaken place.

The lack of air began to make his head spin, the room tunneling around him as his eyes felt like they would implode at any given moment.

In an instant, the hands are gone and were it not for the one that held him by the collar he may have just slumped forward; crumbling to the ground.

With a couple loud, stinging smacks to his cheek, he tries to fill his lungs. Greedy for the air, he deliberately forces himself to take long, albeit shaking, breaths. His headache, which carried from the night before, intensified to the point that he wished he could close his eyes and will himself to sleep.

Asleep. Away from the pain, away from this evil place where the deprived reign free to trample over whomever they wish.

The spare hand finds the back of his neck and helps to shuck him forward. He stumbles, scrambling to catch himself before he hits the ground, but fails miserably.

He ends up with his arms splayed out in front and at his sides, his legs folded under the sore joints of his kneecaps; too exhausted to hold his weight.

His chin digs into the ground beneath him. His teeth grind as he feels the sting of the newly scraped skin.

"Useless."

With a hand gripping his hair at the crown of his head, the man pulls him forward. All the while, he scrambles to follow. Trying his best to keep up and alleviate the pull. His eyes watered anew; he swore at any moment his scalp will pull away from his skull. The skin feeling as though it would tear right off the top of his head if the hair itself wasn't ripped out first.

What did they want with him?

Why were they doing this?

Why, was it always like this?

Was this how people acted without consequence?

Where he was lead, he could hear the screams; the shrill bone chilling shouts and struggling up until the individual on the table lie still. Their bodies succumbing to shock as the onlookers couldn't bring themselves to try and run away; caught in disbelief and sheer horror, watching as the eyes of men, one by one, being burned away by scorched metal picks or by strange chemicals that eroded the membrane and tissue bit by bit before they finally rinsed out the grotesque hollow left behind.

When the arms holding he began pulling him towards the table his own instinct finally kicked in. He bit down and struggled against the hold with all his might.

He wouldn't beg; they wouldn't listen. So he needed to get away. His only chance was to run. He had to run! He had to...!

No matter how much he tugged at his arms or flailed his body, he couldn't break free. Even after they belted his wrists and ankles, he still tried, knowing it was futile.

He looked around frantically, at all the faces of the men awaiting the same fate. Of the men standing above him; and the filthy man who performed these 'operations'.

At that moment, the moment the hot metal radiated against his flesh as he struggled to tear his head away from it, he thought for the first time, some men did not deserve chances.

Men such as these, willing to do something so inhumane and cruel, didn't deserve to even exist.

As the heat came close enough to convince him his skin was bubbling around the red metal he thought of nothing; nothing but revenge.

"Wait."

The heat disappeared in an instant. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His eye still focused on the orange tip of slow cooling metal.

A new voice, one he hasn't heard before. Who was it?

"Shouldn't this one be in the other group?"

A hand clasped around his chin and forced him to look forward. An overhead light was then pulled closer to his face as they inspected his features.

Smooth skin, despite the bruising; an even olive skin tone, delicate jaw line, straight teeth, and such beautiful large and emerald eyes.

The bright light may as well have been the glare of the sun staring directly back into his pupils. He tried to shut his eyes but a thumb and index pulled the lids apart.

"He'd pitch a good price," the man that holds his eyes agrees, "Has a nice face; easy on the eyes. The hair is average but those green eyes are a rarity."

Letting go of the skin around his eye the man then returns to his chin, tilting it side by side with a couple nods to himself.  
"Alright, get him cleaned up and put him with the others."

When he moved aboard, he thought he'd make a difference. He thought he'd better lives, save them even.

He never would have imagined he'd want nothing more than to take them away.

He lie on his stomach, eyes pinched as he held tight to the pillow where his head pressed against. The cotton rubbed against his cheek as his head pushed forward and back against the fabric.

The thin skin at his elbows were long since rubbed raw as he braced himself against the thin mattress. Trying to stay as still as possible as the hips at his backside thrust forward in an unsteady rhythm.

If he stayed as still as possible, he found most became bored and finished quickly. He learned, after so many rise and falls of days into nights, it was better to give in. Struggling was rewarded with discipline in the cruelest ways. Struggling encouraged them, making it so much worse.  
Struggling was useless.

A whimper pulled through his throat. The pace picks up as hands grabbed his hips and pulled him back, slamming harder into his sore body.  
His spine felt each impact; every vertebrae felt as though it shattered; the sharp pain shooting up his spine.  
The hot skin behind him and inside him, combined with the stench of the man's breath and sweat, the greedy hands and talon like grip that dug nails into his skin and repulsed him to no end as he heard the man moan into a climax.

When the man angled hips up, pumping in a few more thrusts as he released himself, he could feel his burn of acid in his throat. It seemed like an eternity before the male slipped out; shoving the brunette's hips away as he stood from the bed.

The brunette glared as best he could through his ragged breathing; incapable of any other form of retaliation.

But the voice only laughed, grasping his chin and grasping it again when he tore it away from the offending hand.

"That look of defiance is why the men here like you so much," the sour breath hit his nose and curled his lips back in a snarl as he man continued, "Too bad... It won't last."

Dropping his chin a chuckle filled his ears. His eyes narrowed in on the man's throat and he fantasized ripping it out; stopping the grating noise from leaving it; stop the bastard from taking a breath altogether.

Footsteps followed the rustling of fabric and the sound of a zipper.

His eyes never left the figure till he exited the room and shut the door behind him. With a hiss he shifted, disgust rippled in his gut as he felt the dribble of fluid fall from his ass and trickle down his thigh.

He wanted to scream into his pillow. He wanted to cry and wail. He wanted revenge. He wanted to pay these bastards back tenfold.  
And shamefully more than that, he wanted to be far away from here. Back to the arms of his loving mother. Back to the safety of his father's comforting words and dreams of a world not tainted like this one. Not tainted like he was now, stained to hate and reject everything he once stood for.

Naive. He was too damn naive.

When he was pulled from that table he thought it was a gift to keep his sight. Had he known what it would be like now, he's not so sure he would have been so grateful.

Even a tedious death seemed more appealing than this.

He lost count of the days, but he knew, by now, the intervals between his 'visits'. Every day, sometimes two and at worst four or five.

The first few days were the hardest. Each visitor only coating themselves with enough grease to make the entry comfortable for themselves; which did nothing to prevent the tearing around them as they pushed through. On more than one occasion, he was sure he blacked out.

He remembers the throbbing and fevers. Remembered his arms and legs and throat giving out. He fought and kicked and yelled. He punched and attack but he was far too weak to give the men a true struggle.

With little sustenance, parched and tired; hungry and in pain; it was only inevitable that he would lose each battle.

Over time he learned through a few of the more talkative types, details of his entrapment. It was confirmed that he was sold into a torture camp; human trafficking was not unknown in these areas but he never imagined he would find himself in such a predicament.

More surprising, he learned he was traded from a military group who worked alongside the rebels and camps in secret.

From the military to the camp and finally in the sullied hands of rebel troops, he was now at their mercy as a mere slave.

A commotion outside sets him on edge. A group of voices echoing closer and closer to the door. Holding back from crying out, he quickly backed himself against the wall. The cold stone seeped into his sweat soaked skin. He could feel the debris clinging to his back.

The voices were getting closer. But it was too soon and there were far too many. Why were there so many and why right now? Why right away?  
Drawing his knees to his chest took a gargantuan effort. Each movement of his legs meant more weight shifting to his rear; the once dulling throb was now suffocating but not nearly as much as his heart leaping into his throat at every footstep and decimal of voices closing in.

"Where the hell are you idiots dragging me anyway? It smells fucking rancid down here."

"It's a surprise sir a surprise! Trust me, there come perks with promotions in rank."

"I don't see how a place so filthy could offer any sort of perk."

The keys jingled in the lock before the door crept open. His eyes narrowing at the newcomers, all with Cheshire grins save for the one man at the center.

"What is this?"

The stern voice from the man at the center of these vultures asked and his eyes immediately locked to his.

The crease of his brow forced the skin to hood over his eyes as they stared forward; calculating as they met his.

"A comfort male," the one man answered quickly but quickly amended, "if you prefer a female instead we can arrange it. But this one here is quite the prize."

"Be careful though. He can put up quite the fight. Reiner here thought it was a good idea to shove his dick in the guy's mouth," with a pause of laughter he continued, "I bet he's still got the teeth marks on his dick to prove it!"

Another man laughed in the background at the expanse of one of the 'Reiner' who boldly told him to go fuck himself.

"That's enough of that," the man at the center of the group pushed then aside and walked into the room. The sight before him made his skin crawl. The brunette was filthy. His hair a tangled mess, cheeks and skin littered with scrapes, bruises, and dried bodily fluids.

The intimidating male ignored how feet scrambled on the bed to push himself away from him as his hand reached forward to push the brunette's hair back from his face. His lips curled as he felt the dirt and grime against his palm and fingers.

The captive's own eyes bore into the stormy cloud of gray that faced him. His heart hammering as he licked his dry lips and prayed this man would turn him away; deny the offer.

Not again. Not right not. Not again. Mercy. Mercy. Please.

Were there any hope left the words out of the grey eyed man's mouth would have shattered.

"He'll do just fine," turning on his heel he faced the other men, "Get him cleaned up and bring him to my room," wiping his hands off with a handkerchief he pulled out of his pocket he continued, "I won't take something so soiled in a bed like that."

A couple men snickered while another seemed more put off then amused. One of which wished to defy him altogether.  
"But... Levi... Smith told us not to..."

He watched as the shorter male, with piercing gray eyes, cut him off by ripping the man up by his collar. Pulling him toward him with a sound akin to a snarl; from his place on the bed he could see the man's toes reaching for the ground beneath himself but falling short. Deceptive from his small build was the apparent strength of this man, and the brunette could only further dread what may happen if he were in his grasp.

"Do you forget who lies second in command of this shit infested group? Erwin will be the least of your worries if you cross my orders."

He watched as Levi dropped the man to feet and began walking off but not before pausing and throwing one last command over his shoulder.

"Why don't you bring the brat up to my room? I can't trust you hooligans to wash him correctly. I'll take care of cleaning him properly myself, understood?"

The men nod in obedience but once he's out of sight they all begin mutter amongst each other once he's gone. With the missing presence of their frustration they all turn on the brunette to vent.

Receiving a beating isn't rare, even now when his sole reason is to provide 'comforts' for the men, he's still subjected to them, just not as often. But when they mean to take out all their aggravation and aggression on him, he can never really prepare himself for it.

He never really thought of variances of kicks or punches in anything other than in terms of strength and force, as of recently, he realized how narrow minded it was to categorize them in such a limited way. More than just brute strength, anger hurt more than when they played around, and the worst yet, despair, by far, yielded the worst results.

By the time they forfeited him to 'Levi's care' he was all but dragged along by his arms. His feet dragging behind him as he made some effort to walk for himself but ultimately gave up. He knew it was useless, but his weight dragging behind his shoulders was excruciating. No matter how he tried, it was better to be tugged along; stumbling around just sent more than necessary jolts through to his neck and elbows.  
He supposed he could be somewhat grateful he wasn't dragged along in the buff. At the very least, they gave him the dignity of clothing, but he knew he was more for appearances than anything else. They would be hard pressed to come up with some explanation to whomever wasn't previewed to what happened behind the scenes.

With a knock on a door by one of the men holding him up, he watched the door open from under his hooded lids and saw the tips of boots peeking through the threshold.

"He looks in worse condition," the statement wasn't one that held any hint of care behind it. Just a blunt fact; a mere observation.

How could such callous men exist? By now, he knew, he really shouldn't be so surprised.

"Well, bring him in and set him in the tub. Try not to drag that filth about in my room. I don't want to deal with any more of a mess than I already have to."

The men did as told, albeit with scowls plastered on their faces as they lifted him a bit higher so only his toes dragged behind him. Not wasting time, they stripped him. Pulling at the clothing as they ripped the shirt over his head and the trousers from his legs.  
Lifting him and tossing him in the tub of water, they left the room without so much as a turn of their heads as he splashed and struggled to pull his arms over the side and his head out from under the water.

Coughing up the liquid, he held a vice grip on the sides of the tub. Afraid, if he didn't, that his head will slip under the water once more. His arms shook with the effort, even in the somewhat seated position he held, he still found it difficult. The strain left over in his shoulders, elbows and the length of his arms, from being pulled along like a rag doll, sapped what little strength he had left in them. They felt like jelly, as he hung his head over the side, letting his weight balance him in place.  
"You're dripping on my floor."

His breath caught in his throat. Where he was and whose care he was now in coming back to light as his heart alit with renewed anxiety. This man was strong, and the way he carried himself and spoke; spoke silent warnings of danger. It wasn't unlike the other men he was forced into company with, but something about this man, Levi, in particular…

It was as if he were facing a beast who was casually mauling over whether to paw him around for fun or devour him after tearing loose his throat.  
His eyes opened wide, though he hadn't realized they'd been shut in the first place. Indeed, drop by drop, a small pool of water had gathered at the side of the tub. He watched a drop fall from his hair to the floor, with the sound like water dripping from a faucet, as if the water itself was treacherous.

He looked up through the spaces between the wet hairs that hung over his eyes, watching and hearing the click of boots approaching. Settling right in front of his eyes, he watched the ankles bend as Levi sat on his heels. His heart hammered as he watched a hand approach his face, and shut his eyes before feeling a finger lift his chin; tilting his head from side to side, as he assumed, he was being inspected in some way.

With a displeased click of his tongue he barely heard Levi's words, "They did a number on you didn't they."

He knew it wasn't a question. And he knew better to answer, out of turn, even if it was.

"How long have you been here?"

He felt his brows crease, confused by the question. Did that really matter? Why did he need to know that? He couldn't answer it even if he wanted to anyway. How long was he here? He honestly didn't know.

He shook his head in response, not really knowing if he was capable of speech. His throat felt tight; as if it was closed.

"Who brought you here?"

He shook his head once, any more and he would have felt the urge to vomit. The water was warm, and while it was nice, it was also making him dizzy.

"Then your name? Surely, you remember that."

He was surprised by how patient Levi sounded, considering his clicked tone from earlier. He held his tongue a moment longer. The string of questions was certainly bizarre. None of the other men, soldiers, rebels, whatever you wanted to call them, ever bothered to ask him such things.  
His voice croaked in his throat when he tried to speak. It ached as he strained to get his voice to work properly. Clearing his throat and resisting the urge to cough with Levi's hand at his chin he swallowed and rasped out his name.

"E-Er…. Ere…n Ye…ag-er."

Notes: phewww- so like- what are Levi's intentions here huh? We'll see with the next chapter and resolve the story!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Notes: Heres the last chapter! I may expand on this idea in the further - after everything else is finished up ~! I hope you all enjoy it! Thank you for all your support / comments!

Chapter Text

"Eren is it?"

Looking down at him through his nose, his lips curled.

"You're already turning the water brown…," he observed, none too pleased, "Can you sit up on your own? I'm going to have to hose you off with the shower head first."

Eren didn't know what to say, or why he was willing to do such a thing. Was it for Levi's or his sake?

Either way, whatever the outcome, the need to be washed clean of this mess clinging to his skin, his hair, his nails, and even inside of him. Like a tidal wave, it all crushed down on him at once. How many days? How many times?

Looking to the water, looking to his skin, his chest heaved, his breathing quickened, his eyes burned. With trembling hands his back erected as his eyes followed the shaking in his palms to his forearms and trembling frame.

His skin was pale and grey. A result to the lack of sunlight and the layers of dust that seemed to have soaked into his pores. His bones, while not sticking out, were much more prominent before. He was gaunt, disgusting. Seared into his flesh was scattered bruises that ranged from yellow, lime and purple.

Each time his lungs expanded against his rips, he felt his head spin as his vision blurred more and more by the second. What he could see, and what he couldn't see.

"Ge…t..of..f…"

The broke murmur made no sense to his ears, but the words rang clear in his mind.

"Ge-t.. it…"

Above a whisper, caught on his breath as his fingers moved slowly to his chest and arm, like a mantra he repeated.

"G-get it o-off. G…et it off. G-get it off!"

Hands at his wrist left his mind to shut down; his body reacting immediately as reason slipped. His chest, his eyes, his throat, everything burned and ached and stung. He couldn't breathe, his lungs contracting and expanding too quickly to supply him with the oxygen he so desperately needed. Clarity deteriorated further. Dizzy and dazed, his body fought against the hands that tried to hold him in place. It didn't matter if why they were there, the grip was trying to control him. Intentions be damned.

He had to get away was all that resounded in his heart.

"God damn it brat! Stop! If you keep this up you'll fucking pass out, just stop!"

The voice was drowned out. He couldn't hear it well enough to think, let alone obey.

"Eren! Stop!"

His skin was dirty. His body was dirty. He was dirty. It was on him, inside him, surrounding him. No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

He wasn't… He couldn't be. He wasn't that person anymore. Eren believed the world to be filled with good people. Eren believed everyone, deep down, wanted what was right and just. Eren believed this, believed he was following the right path. Believed he wanted to help everyone and anyone who needed him.

He could never be this Eren, not anymore. Not when he craved to see these men suffer a worse fate than he. Not when he longed to bludgeon what identified them as men till it was unrecognizable. He couldn't be Eren anymore.

His thrashing died down. A numb feeling overtaking his limbs as they forced sporadic twitches in their last show of defiance. A familiar darkness began to obscure his vision; his eyelids growing heavier. It was fine this way, he thought as the hands at his wrists slackened to grab his shoulders.

If he was asleep he wouldn't feel a thing. If he remained asleep, he wouldn't have to face this reality; he wouldn't have to accept that he could no longer be the same man.

His body felt light, but not in the way of weakness. It was a pleasant, a floating like feeling. It was warm around him. The atmosphere soft and delicate as it cradled him. If he listened carefully, he could hear a soft murmur of a voice, deep and baritone. The words were left in a haze but the comfort behind them reached beyond his ears.

Was it his father's voice? Was this home?

Every syllable was indecipherable, but the voice was coming to the forefront, shadowed only by the warmth that begin to turn into an uncomfortable heat on his forearms. It stung, and the sting brought back the weight of his body and the weight of his memories.

He wasn't home. That wasn't his father's voice.

Sitting up with a jolt, he heaved a deep breath. The loud gasp sounded loud in the quiet room. His eyes came into focus, trailing down to see a pool of silky fabric at his waist. More curious than the soft fabric was the bed beneath it, and with his eyes darting around the room, it was ever more curious of his surroundings.

He woke up in a room, simple yet elegant. It smelled clean and fresh, worlds away from the smells that ate away at the hairs in his nostrils in that god forsaken room. The bed under him didn't dig into his back, it was soft and pliant. The familiar sting was still there, but the cushion relieved the pain somewhat, and at the moment, he was far too distracted by where he could possibly be.

He remembered meeting Levi. He remembered his men and being dragged to Levi's room; thrown in his tub and then….

Downright shame washed over him as he looked down at his arms. He was surprised to find them carefully wrapped. The white of the bandages nearly blending in with his own pale skin; drained of its once olive tone, he felt transparent.

But who had taken the time to wrap him like this? And why? What happened to them? He was positive his forearms were fine before he entered the room, and the same sting seemed to itch at his chest as well. Glancing down, to his chest he frowned at the scratches, some deep and some only slightly so. He could only imagine that was what littered his arms beneath the white gauze.

Surely, if they took the time to fix up his wrists and forearms, if they truly meant any good intent, surely they would have catered to other cuts and scrapes as well. As if to prove himself wrong, he lifted his hand to touch his lip, which he knew was split. An odd gel like substance met his fingers and before he could draw his fingers away to see exactly what it was, a voice stilled his movements and froze him in place.

"Don't touch that. It'll rub off."

He pulled his hand away as if it had been burned. His head snapping to the source of the voice in slight panic. He hadn't even heard the man come into the room.  
He flinched as Levi's knee dipped into the bed. He didn't know whether or not to thank him, or whether he was the one to blame in the first place for the brand new wounds which seemed to require the bandages he now sported on his arms. As if sensing his questions, the raven haired male speaks up. His voice is flat, even, and somehow it's unnerving.

"You dug into your forearms and chest in the bath before you passed out," at the suspicious glance Eren sent him, he clarified, "You hyperventilated. Made a damn mess in my washroom as well."

"I-I'm sorry," he rasped out quickly.

He didn't sound at all like himself. His voice far too neglected to the point it sounded almost completely foreign to his ears. He didn't really apologize out of sincerity. He wasn't even sure if he truly needed to apologize. The entire situation was lost on him. He kept searching his mind for some angle, something the man could gain or want. Surely, he cleaned him up to fit his own preference. The fact that he had a meltdown in the man's tub did little to prove his innocence of intentions.

The apology came out as nothing more than an attempt at self-preservation.

After a long pause, during which, grey eyes searched his, the man finally settled on an acceptable response.

"Forget it. At the very least you don't smell anymore."

Eren dropped his gaze to his hands that now sat in his lap. As has become habit, he pinched the skin on the ball of his hand repeatedly. It worked as a mild distraction. The mindless task helping to keep his mind off the twisting and turning of his stomach and nerves. He had to know what he was in for. He couldn't stand not knowing.

The comfort of the bed which he lay did little to relax him. Even considering what might be concern, he felt even less at unrest than ease. Before he may have immediately believed this guy, Levi, to be a more sincere, just person, but in light of all he had been through, it only serves to make him more and more apprehensive.

Like a calm before the storm. This man was unpredictable. It simply made him that much more dangerous.

"W-What are you…"

He's not sure why he started to speak. He finds the words to abandon his tongue before he even thought of telling them, but by then it's too late. Levi is watching him, waiting expectantly for him to finish his sentence. Or at the very least make sense of it.

"I…," He swallows thickly and he has to look away before he speaks again, "What are you… going to do with me?"

When no response is made and the weight of silence grows too heavy, his eyes peer up. Cautiously, he licks his dry lips and has to keep himself from losing his breath again.

"What do you want?"

He scoffs at him. Actually scoffs.

"I thought that would be obvious."

Right. Right… of course. He really was exactly like the rest, and this was not the type of man he wanted to challenge. He was tired, and still a bit light headed. He could tell, despite his small stature, from the way he spoke and the way he handled his subordinates, this was not a fight he would win. He held, not just an air of superiority, beyond the commanding presence was a strength that was seemed to exude like an aura from him.  
Even if he was at his best, and he knew he was far from it, he wasn't sure he'd stand a chance even then.

He pulled himself from under the bedding and carefully rolled himself onto his hands and knees, doing his best not to aggravate his arms any further. He kept his eyes closed. Lowering his head to rest between his wrists onto the mattress, he did his best to breathe in and out slowly. He needed to keep calm. He was just like the rest. Just give him what he wants, and it'll be all over soon.

Just like the rest. Just give him what he wants and it can all be over.

He wasn't sure who he hated more at this point, them or himself.

"What are you doing?"

The inquiring voice did little more than have him pinch his brow, a bit confused as to what he did wrong. Only a few seconds passed between them before he felt a hand on his shoulder shoving him over. He was pushed onto his back as a sharp intake of breath left him. His mind reeled; what did he do wrong?

"Face me Eren."

It took him a bit longer to turn his head appropriately to the sound of Levi's voice, but he still kept his eyes clamped shut. No, rather, now they were shut even tighter than before.

The bed dipped again, and his heart sped as he felt the warm heat of the other's body leaning over him. He was still kneeling at his side, but he was closer. Closing in on him or at least that's how he felt. The hand that pushed him over was still on his shoulder. Whether it was to hold him in place or not didn't matter. What mattered was why?

Why was he delaying? Why was he making this so much more difficult than it had to be?

"P-Please."

"Open your eyes."

Eren shook his head, the last bit of pride welling up enough courage for him to defy him.

"Please just… just get it over with. Anything you want, you'll do it anyway right? So, just get it over with."

He didn't hear his voice rising. It all sounded like a whisper in his ears. He was tired, he was so fucking tired. Was this man just toying with him? Did he really expect him to watch? Would he force him to?

"I told you to open your eyes, Eren."

'Stop using my name,' his thoughts ran clear through his mind. He hated his name off this man's tongue. He shouldn't have said anything to begin with. Now he was just treating him as a plaything, completely toying with him. He wanted this to stop before it began, or hurry and be over before he could reflect.

Beat him, rape him, hurt him, whatever it was… He just wanted it to be over and done.

"Just do what you want with me and get it over with!"

The volume of his voice surprised him. He wasn't even sure he could get his voice to project so loudly anymore. Every sound from his mouth seemed like a murmur for so long, that he forgot how powerful his voice could be.

Levi had stilled, and some degree of hope urged him to peel his eyes open, just to see if his shout had really affected him. But as his eyes cracked open, and the unfazed glare that was set on him was anything to go by, he didn't have a drop of hope in sight. Anxiety coiled in his gut as he tried to press himself further back on the bed. Tried to get as far away from those eyes that seemed to bore and dig into his own.

"Are you quite finished?"  
Eren felt his blood boil, but kept his lips sealed. He didn't want to dig himself a hole any deeper than he already may have. It wasn't worth it. He knew it wasn't. It was just the condescending note in each word, as this man spoke, that had him bristling. He was being undermined and treated like a child. This was the worst, the absolute worst. This entire time that he had endured, only to come back to the present and be chided as if he threw a tantrum for no good reason at all.

'Are you quite finished' he says? How dare he, they, anyone; these bastards who cared for no one but themselves. Did these men lack all signs of empathy? He would have never thought it possible till he was brought here.

"Where are you from?"

The question side lines him; his brow knitting together as he searches for reason behind the seemingly blank greys staring back at him.

"I asked you a question."

When the bewilderment did not fade from his features, and his lips did not part to form speech, it seemed that Levi's patience began running thin.

Leaning over him, his hand now pressing into his shoulder, Eren could hear Levi's voice lower; in what he could only assume to be aggravation.

"I don't appreciate repeating myself."

The confusion bled to anger. He wasn't sure why, maybe it was being clean for the first time in so long or waking up in a room actually fit for living, or hell, perhaps he just didn't have it in himself to care any longer. Maybe he just wanted the last word; a cornered animal baring his fangs for the last time.

"Excuse me… If I find it pointless to appease you. Just… whatever it is you want to do to me. Just fucking do it."  
"Don't push me kid."

A bitter laugh tore his throat, "Kid? You can really look me in the eye and call me that?"

The grip tightened on his shoulder, and he watched as the jaw set and Levi's eyes darkened. But he didn't have it in himself to care, not anymore. What worse could they do that they had not already done.

"If you don't like a 'kid' like me pushing you around… then why not just beat me up or fuck me. Go ahead get yourself off you're keeping everyone else waiting."

His words were spoken between his teeth, making sure to put extra emphasis on 'kid'. His eyes tearing from the rage that began to build toward the surface and flow freely as it burst. Even through his defiance, he was scared, completely frightened, but more so than that, so much more…

"You can do whatever you want, but I won't scream. I won't cry out. I won't give you that satisfaction, and I swear… I swear… somehow… some way… I'll fucking kill you. I'll kill all of you."

Spit smacked against Levi's cheek, just below his eye. He watched as the man's mouth parted in disgust. His finger moved to swipe the saliva clean from his cheek, only to pull it within view as if in disbelief. Eren felt his lips caught between smiling and trembling in anticipating fear.

"Good luck with that," Levi bit out before moving off the bed.

Crossing the room, he watched him move to a stand. Grabbing a pitcher and pouring its content into a glass, he moved back to the side of the bed and set it on the end table. He suspiciously eyed the cup, not sure really what to think of the gesture. Was it poison?

"I didn't piss or shit in that cup its fucking water brat. Drink it and get some rest, I'll be back later."

He watched as Levi moved to the door, hand on the knob, he looked speaks up one last time before exiting the room.

"No one can get in here without my permission."

As he parted, the door clicked shut, and the instant it did Eren all but leapt for the glass of water. Taking an experimental sniff at it, he realized he wouldn't be able detect anything from merely breathing it in. It wasn't as if he hadn't already thrown caution to the wind already. Once he drained the cup of its contents, he eyed the pitcher across the room.

Pushing back the sheets, he stumbled his way out of bed and nearly tumbled to get to the pitcher. Greedily, he swallowed every drop as the water flowed freely past his lips, and just as much leaking past to stream down his chin and puddle onto the floor. He drank so quickly his throat couldn't keep up. His body hunched forward with a jerk, violently coughing as it burned in his chest all the way to his tongue.

With shaking legs, he tried his best to make it to the bed quickly. His joints ached, and his legs refused to hold his weight properly, even now. It seemed he all but underestimated how useless his own body had become as time had passed him in this place. With his single goal of making it in that bed, and probably getting the only decent rest he would be allowed in years, he managed to pull himself onto the mattress and heave one last sigh before his eyes sealed shut.

Whatever angle this character Levi was working, whatever it was… it didn't matter. Whatever this was… he was sure it was all to a means to an end. Whatever Levi's reasons, he knew, it couldn't possibly be to his benefit….. Right?

"Wake up and eat," Levi's voice nudged him from his rest.

His eyes blinked open as the light filtered in and the voice repeated for him to eat, causing the stir to snap him into awareness. In what he found an involuntary reaction, Eren's feet scrambled on the bed as he woke up with a sharp intake of breath, pushing his back against the headboard.

"Relax, its eggs and toast."

Settling the tray on the bed, it did contain a small breakfast. The sarcasm from earlier, apparently, had not worn off.

"What, no flower in a vase?"

The smirk that spread across Levi's lips was a bit disarming. He still wasn't completely sure of what he was capable of, but given recent events, he was sure he could come up with a vague picture of it.

"Cute."

Tapping the end of the tray, Levi straightened up and moved towards the door.

"Eat."

Eren was once again at a loss. Why, what was in it for Levi?

"That's it…. Eat," Eren tilted his head forward, eyes searching through his bangs for some clear answer.

Was this really all?

"That's it. Eat."

If he had to recall, he couldn't say how many times he woke up with an offer of food, a few bickering words, questions that went unanswered and a level of kindness behind indifference, even now, he was unsure he could trust.

Day by day, that uncertainly waned.

Not once had he been back to that room. Not once had he been touched. Not once had he laid hand on him.

He was fed, he was clothed, he was allowed rest and sometimes company. Each meeting dulled his tongue, and loosened Levi's.

Each conversation was ultimately about Eren himself. Not once did Levi ever tell him any details about his life.

His intentions were never made clear. His eyes never gave him away either. He never said why, and he never asked for compensation.

Even as he found himself, late at night, with a handful of others much like him, being ushered into a truck in secret, he never revealed himself. Not even as a final hand carded through his hair. Not even when the engine was started and he asked one last time, why, and Levi pressed his lips to his before pulling back to press their foreheads together, to speak the last words he would ever here from the man would save him from this debilitating fate.

Placing Eren's hand on his chest, with a familiar smirk, that he now knew, was anything but vindictive, he thread the fingers of his free hand through Eren's hair to press them closer.

"Because not all of us have abandoned our hearts."


End file.
